


Quick Draw

by pinegreenapples



Series: Coldflash For A Fortnight [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7054087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinegreenapples/pseuds/pinegreenapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick snorted and gave him an unimpressed look. “Hell of a job, Snart. Only you’d end up getting hung from a fire escape.”</p>
<p>Len glared flatly at his partner. “Why thank you, Mick.”</p>
<p>Captain Singh broke in irritably, “What happened exactly, Detective?” He crossed his arms and waited as Len picked up the locket that had been hung around his neck. Len opened the locket and pulled out a piece of paper. When he unfolded it, he read it aloud.</p>
<p>“I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I don’t take bribes, I’m a classy lady. Sincerely, Quick Draw.” He folded it again and placed it back in the locket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, there is a little bit of dubious consent, but I didn't feel it was strong enough to warrant the Archive Warning since it's all very brief and spaced out. If that sort of thing bothers you, however, I apologize.

Len sipped on a dry martini as he watched couple after couple swirl past on the ballroom floor. He hated these kind of parties. They always made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. He supposed, that was perhaps he was out of place since he was the only undercover cop at the biggest organized crime function in a year. He had a job to do, however, and he couldn’t just leave because he was feeling a little antsy.

Len scanned the crowd again, idly wondering which woman was his contact. It had taken four months, but Len had finally risen far enough in the ranks to be able to relay messages to the Allen family’s most efficient assassin.

Rumors ran wild about Quick Draw. They said she was six feet with knives for stiletto heels and at least two guns in her garters. They said she had naturally blood red lips and black hair that branded her as the Lady Death herself.

Of course, Len didn’t really listen to rumors but he did do his research. He knew that Quick Draw was incredibly secretive and careful. She never left a trace of evidence at any of her hits and she never left a card to confirm that it was indeed her. She killed primarily with knives that were plain kitchen knives so as to be untraceable but she always bought the same brand. She was known to be well skilled in martial arts and an expert markswoman. Needless to say, Quick Draw was dangerous.

Len sighed at his empty martini glass. He really couldn’t afford drinking another glass if he wished to have all his wits about him when Quick Draw did make her appearance but at the same time, he wasn’t sure if he could survive the evening without a drink in hand. He eventually decided that attentiveness was more important and headed to the buffet table instead.

Another man was there frowning thoughtfully at a plate of bruschetta. Len took one of the dainty plates and added a few chocolate truffles to it. He reached to take a few hors d'oeuvres and the man startled.

“Oh! I’m so sorry am I in your way?” He somehow managed to look apologetic and anxious at the same time.

Len smiled reassuringly, “You’re fine. I was just reaching for the hors d’oeuvres.”

The other man bobbed his head. “I’d recommend the brown ones, they’re pretty good.”

Len froze fractionally before he turned to face the other man fully.

“Is that so? What’s in them? If there’s eggplant, I’m afraid I can’t, I’m allergic.” He recited, watching the other man for any sort of expression. The other man, Quick Draw, smiled slightly.

“You know, this party is really getting to me. Wanna try and find an unoccupied room?” He tilted his head to the side playfully.

Len nodded and the two of them headed out of the ballroom and down a hall to a room. As Quick Draw locked the door behind them, Len studied the room. It appeared that they’d ended up in some sort of study as there were several rows of bookcases surrounding a large redwood desk. There was an overstuffed chair behind the desk with gold embroidery and a matching chair over by a divan in front of a large bay window just to the left of the desk.

Quick Draw cleared his throat and Len turned slowly to look at him.

“You have the target?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

Len nodded, “Anita Martinez, Willowbrook Avenue 1489.”

The assassin rocked back on his heels and chewed on his lower lip. He nodded a few times before he focused his eyes back on Len.

“You’ll have to forgive me.” He smiled ruefully.

Len frowned, about to ask what he meant when Quick Draw was suddenly in front of him and he felt a heavy blow to his temple. As the world faded to black, Len dimly registered being lifted.

***

His head was _killing_ him was the first thing Len noticed when he regained consciousness. It felt like had taken a hammer and decided their one goal in life was to make sure his head pounded in a perfect painful rhythm. He groaned softly and chanced opening his eyes.

The room was dimly lit-thank goodness for small miracles- but it was one Len didn’t recognize. It had plum drapes and deep red walls with gold detailing along the ceiling and baseboards. There was a dark oak desk organized within an inch of its life in one corner and a small chair of the same wood wood sat in the corner opposite. A door that presumably led to a bathroom had light spilling out of it and Len wondered if Quick Draw had disappeared in there.

Len tried to get up to explore further but he realized he couldn’t. He looked to where his hands were handcuffed to a bedpost and felt dread begin to rise like bile in his throat. He tugged at the cuffs, trying to see if he could break through the post but it was too thick.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” A cheery voice piped up from in front of him. He turned to find Quick Draw in front of him in just his button up and slacks.

“I’ve got a few questions for you.” He said as he played idly with a knife in his hands. “First off, what’s your name?”

Len glared at him but said nothing. The assassin pouted.

“I’m not asking for your social security number, darling, just your name.” He pulled the chair from the corner to the base of the bed and sat backwards in it. “C’mon, first letter?”

Len resolutely stayed silent. Quick Draw sighed.

“Alright, who do you work for?”

Len clenched his jaw. Quick Draw assumed a hurt expression.

“You know, it’s a lot more fun when you say stuff back.” He draped an arm over the back of the chair, his fingers dangling the knife.

“Favorite color?”

Len only raised an eyebrow. The brunette sighed again.

“It was worth a shot.” In the blink of an eye, he threw the knife. It landed mere centimeters from Len’s right ear and he felt his heart begin to race. The assassin stood up and walked over to the bed. He leaned over Len and delicately plucked the knife out of the wood.

“I was so hoping we could do this the easy way.” He whispered, nose a few centimeters away from Len’s. “You’re cute enough to want to keep in one piece.” He drew back and began to play with the knife again.

“Did you know a human can lose up to two liters of blood before the body can’t compensate anymore and fails?” He said it conversationally and Len felt his throat begin to close up.

“There are also around twenty major arteries within the human body.” The brunette looked up at Len and grinned. “My favorite’s the femoral, it’s just so- _intimate._ ” His free hand slid up Len’s thigh and gently stroked the artery in question.

Len sucked in a breath, he felt his face go a little paler.

A chirp broke the silence and Quick Draw frowned before he pulled a phone out of his pocket. His eyebrows shot up and he got off the bed. Len watched the man pace back and forth. His heart thrummed in his chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Quick Draw looked up from his phone and glanced at Len.

“Detective Leonard Snart.” He said, “Of precinct twelve within the CCPD. Currently deep undercover to take down the infamous Quick Draw.” He tilted his head and smiled.

“I’m flattered. However, it seems you’re off the hook.” He walked back over to the bed and sat again before grabbing Len’s nose between his thumb and forefinger and kissing him soundly.

Len struggled to breathe, but the assassin’s grip was too strong and for the second time that night, everything faded into darkness.

***

Barry uncuffed the unconscious cop and dialed a number.

“Overwatch.” The distorted voice sounded strange through the phone.

“Hey, Overwatch. Thanks for the info. Is the car still out front? I have a cop I need to dispose of.” He stuck the phone between his shoulder and ear while he walked around to the bathroom and pulled rope out of his bag.

“Quick Draw, please tell me you didn’t kill him.” Even through the garble, Overwatch managed to sound annoyed.

Barry scoffed. “What do you take me for? An amateur? He’s unconscious but I need to make a statement. Is the car there or not?”

A rush of static came through as Barry tied Len’s hands and feet together. He took Len’s tie and made a gag.

“Yes. Be careful, Quick Draw.”

Barry chuckled. “Aren’t I always?” He hung up and put his phone in his pocket before hoisting Len onto his shoulder, fireman style.

***

The ride was uneventful. Len stayed unconscious as Barry wrote a note and placed it in a locket. He clasped the locket around his captive’s neck and tucked it under his shirt.

“There,” He murmured, “Message sent.”

The car stopped at the mouth of an alley and Barry got out with his human cargo. He squinted up at the fire escape on the back of the building he was facing.

“What do you think, three stories should be good enough, right?” He asked Len’s passed out form. When he didn’t respond, Barry shrugged.

“Three stories it is.” He began to haul Len up the stairs.

Len awoke in the middle of Barry’s knot tying. He was already hanging upside down, Barry had just lowered him a few seconds ago. He wanted to thrash around but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Barry noticed Len was a wake and grinned at him.

“Well, hello there, sleeping beauty.” He smirked. “Finally awake, I see.” He continued to work on his complicated web of knots as Len glared balefully at him. Barry tutted.

“Now, now. It’s only a few more minutes until I’m done.” He worked a for a few more minutes before pulling out his phone and dialing 9-1-1.

Barry put the phone between his shoulder and ear, finishing up his last knot. “Hello?” He asked frantically.

“What’s your emergency, sir?” The operator responded calmly.

“There’s a-a man hanging from my fire escape and-and I don’t know how he got there and pl-please tell me you can help!” He sobbed into the phone, a smile directed at the glare Len sent him. He stood up and transferred the phone to his hand.

“Of course, sir. Where do you live?” The operator soothed.

“Oh, right, um, I live at Greenwich Road and, um, Freelanche Drive?” Barry began to walk back through the empty apartment, his voice approaching hysterical. He exited out the door and pressed the button for the elevator. “Apartment four seven seven?”

“Alright, sir, our responders are on their way, please try to stay calm and don’t try to move the man, we’ll do that for you.”

“O-okay.” He sniffed and hung up before he threw the burner phone in the garbage can next to the elevator doors. Barry smiled wickedly as he stepped into the elevator and it began to lower. The cops would take three minutes to respond to this dingy little apartment building. In that time, he’d be long gone. And when Detective Snart told them he went out the elevator and they checked for the tapes, they’d find that somehow all the cameras had been turned off for the past twenty four hours. The plan had worked perfectly, he thought as he stepped out into the empty lobby and walked to doors. Pulling one open, he spied the car he’d used earlier. He walked briskly over and slid into the back seat.

“Where to, Mr. Allen?” The driver asked.

“Warehouse 20, please,” He replied, “I need to discuss security with Ivan.”

***

Len closed his eyes as the blood continued to rush to his head. He was getting dizzy at this point. He guessed he’d probably pass out in a few more minutes if he wasn’t cut down soon. He dimly registered sirens at the mouth of the alley. There was some yelling but he couldn’t make out any of it, he was too busy focusing on not falling into the encroaching blackness. Len felt a tug and he cracked open an eye. He could barely make out the fuzzy outline of a human pulling at the rope tied around his ankles.

After a few more minutes, Len was up on the fire escape, wrapped in an orange blanket and going through a basic fine motor skill test with the EMT. His wrists and ankles had already been wrapped for rope burn and he was beginning to feel better as his blood drained back into its normal circulation. He passed the test and the EMT left him alone to report back to his partner and Captain who had joined him on the fire escape landing.

“Hello, Captain Singh, Mick.” He drawled.

Mick snorted and gave him an unimpressed look. “Hell of a job, Snart. Only you’d end up getting hung from a fire escape.”

Len glared flatly at his partner. “Why thank you, Mick.”

Captain Singh broke in irritably, “What happened exactly, Detective?” He crossed his arms and waited as Len picked up the locket that had been hung around his neck. Len opened the locket and pulled out a piece of paper. When he unfolded it, he read it aloud.

“I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I don’t take bribes, I’m a classy lady. Sincerely, Quick Draw.” He folded it again and placed it back in the locket.

“I got made.” Len said before shrugging.

Captain Singh sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes sliding shut. “Four months of deep cover and the first opportunity you have to meet Quick Draw she instantly figures out you’re a cop and hangs you over a forty foot drop?”

“Not she, _he.”_ Len corrected. “Quick Draw’s a man. We’ve been looking in the wrong direction for years.”

“Did you get a name? Or a description?” Singh looked at him as he crossed his arms again.

Len nodded. “Brown hair, green eyes, caucasian, tall-about six two. He never gave me a name but he did make the call to 9-1-1. I saw him as he left.” Len shifted. “He never wanted me to die, I was just a message.” Len couldn’t help but feel a little bitter as those words left his mouth, he hated being a pawn.

“Call me crazy, Detective, but I prefer having one of my best investigators alive than dead. Take the rest of the week off, we’ll keep you updated and you can join the case on Monday, understood?” Singh’s tone brooked no argument and Len nodded grudgingly.

Singh left the landing and made his way down the stairs, yelling orders.

Mick glanced at him before letting out a snort of laughter. “Only you, Snart.” He sobered briefly, “I’ll run the number of the call and check the owner of the apartment as well as the security tapes. We’ll get him, partner.”

Len nodded his thanks. “I appreciate that, Mick.” He murmured.

“Well, you need to get home, Captain’s orders.” Mick said as he helped Len to his feet.

“I’ll drive.” Len replied.

Mick glanced at him flatly. “You were just hanging from a fire escape, _I’ll_ drive.”

Len shook his head, “I’m not living through being hanged upside down in order to die in a car crash, I’m driving.”

The two continued to squabble as they walked to Mick’s squad car and Mick finally forced Len to sit in the passenger seat where Len bitched about his _red lights are optional_ attitude and general lack of regard for the rules of the road as they made their way to Len’s apartment.

***

When Len joined the case on Monday, the lab technicians had nothing. Quick Draw had left no fingerprints, skin, hair, or fibers anywhere. They had absolutely no leads whatsoever. Len hadn’t expected they would but it was still highly irritating to have that suspicion confirmed.

***

Len awoke in the middle of the night with the feeling that something was off. He pulled out the gun he kept in his bedside table and aimed it at the human shape that slipped out of the shadows.

“Quick Draw.” Len grit out as the shape moved closer. “You are under arrest.”

Barry tilted his head and smiled. “Detective, I’m hurt. I’d thought after that kiss we’d be past the guns and threats phase.” He moved closer still and Len cocked his gun.

“Easy, darling, I’ve come to apologize for my deplorable behavior. It was rude of me to leave you hanging off a fire escape.” Barry said. “You do make a very effective messenger, though. Thank you for that.” He continued to edge into Len’s space until he could just reach out and touch him.

Len kept his gun trained on Barry. “Hands behind your back, Quick Draw.” He ordered. Barry just chuckled. He leaned forward and kissed Len deeply, pulling the gun from his grasp.

“Goodnight, darling. Don’t come after me.” he whispered, his breath hot against Len’s lips and then he was gone, the gun left on the bedside table.

Len sat for a moment, staring at the fluttering curtains before he got up and shut the window. _Like hell he’d let that assassin go_ , he thought as he climbed back into bed. He was a _cop._


	2. Arson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his eyes landed at the bar, he noticed Quick Draw had changed positions. His elbows rested on the counter, one hand supporting his cheek as he gazed at Len. His fingers shifted to cover his mouth briefly and then down to reveal his lips were pursed in an ‘o’. He was blowing a kiss.  
> Cocky fucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up three months late with a smoothie and a sheepish smile* So, I know I took forever to update, but in my defense I never expected to have to expand this. I still have no idea where I'm going with it and honestly, it's probably going to be a seriously long time between updates. My apologies!

Barry swore violently as he watched the smoke dissipate in the wind. He felt his fists curl tighter as he looked over the burnt remains of the newest warehouse he’d just bought.

He’d acquired it specifically to have a closer base for his intercontinental relations just last week. He’d been trying to renovate it simply because he hated having to meet in a setting he didn’t always know like the back of his hand. Some of his international partners liked to change their bases so frequently it made Barry edgy.

“Ivan,” He murmured, “I need you to open an investigation. Consider it your redemption.” Barry turned to catch his head of security nod in relief.

“Of course, sir.” He rumbled. 

Barry pulled his lips in a smile that never reached his eyes. “I want the names of the organization and specifically of those involved in the arson itself. You have three weeks.”

With that, Barry turned and walked briskly to the waiting car. He needed a plan.

***

Precisely ten days later, Ivan delivered a small white envelope to his oak desk. 

The letter inside was almost completely blank save four names. Barry resisted the urge to swear violently as he saw the name of the arsonists’ leader. His fingers twitched towards the knife strapped to his belt before he curled them into a fist. The small crescents of his nails grounded him as he closed his eyes briefly.

Barry took a deep breath and glanced back at the first name on the page.  _ George Mallozzi. _ The Mallozzis were a sub branch of the Santinis, they mostly dealt in the dirty work that the Santinis needed done. They were lowlifes of the worst kind.

Barry clenched his jaw and his eyes fell shut again. He couldn’t risk an all out war right now. He’d just gotten his inheritance stable, there was no way he was going to risk that on something as small as a warehouse. But at the same time, no retaliation showed that he was weak and after such a long period of the Allen family nearly collapsing, he couldn’t afford that either.

He needed a third way. Barry turned to face the wall of windows overlooking the cityscape of Central City and brooded. He watched the sun sparkle off the glass and steel and gleam on the old polished stone of the city. Central City was beautiful, and hopefully one day it would be his. Completely, without interference from imbeciles like the Santinis. Barry growled as his thoughts came full circle without so much as an idea.

A soft ping drew his attention back to his desk. His computer had lit up with a notification. As he clicked on it, a small blurb of text and a picture popped up. 

Barry felt a smirk sink into his features as he gazed at the silver fox sitting at a sidewalk cafe, blue windbreaker cutting a sleek figure. He’d found his third option.

***

It had been a regular Friday night for Len. He’d finished work around six and headed straight to his local haunt, Saints and Sinners. He’d ordered dinner there along with his beer since he really had no desire to try cooking anything tonight. It had been nearly a month since that whole... _ debacle. _ He was still a part of the Organized Crime division but only by a thread and he knew that thread was his great track record and Singh’s grudging approval that hadn’t cut him loose to some other department or hell, cut him loose entirely.

Len stewed in his booth, mindlessly turning his beer bottle in a circle. Today had marked uneventful in a long twenty six days of dull for Len as he waited for the higher ups to finally give him another undercover job. He knew this was technically recovery time in between cases to keep him from going insane but Len felt it was the reverse. 

His bottle wobbled slightly on the next turn and he gripped it to keep it from tipping. It steadied just as the bar’s small bell rang. Len glanced up and felt his breath snag in his lungs.

A pair of terribly familiar green eyes swept over the bar and caught on him. He sat, spellbound as the eyes widened slightly before narrowing in amusement.

Quick Draw gave a flirtatious wiggle of his fingertips before proceeding to the bar. He sat down and greeted the bartender as if they were great friends.

Len’s fingers itched towards his gun but he stopped himself, he couldn’t pull a gun on Quick Draw in such a packed space. The assassin could try anything, not to mention the odds of Len accidentally hitting a civilian were much higher than he wanted to risk.

Len downed the last dregs of his beer and placed enough cash to cover his bill on the table. He strode over to the pool table closer to the entrance, it was a better vantage point to observe everything. From the small smirk Quick Draw sent his way, it was obvious he knew what Len was doing. For some reason that irked Len.

Len grabbed a cue stick and examined it, using it as an excuse to scope out the room for possible exits and note where people were. As his eyes landed at the bar, he noticed Quick Draw had changed positions. His elbows rested on the counter, one hand supporting his cheek as he gazed at Len. His fingers shifted to cover his mouth briefly and then down to reveal his lips were pursed in an ‘o’. He was blowing a kiss.

_ Cocky fucker. _

Len prayed the heat he was feeling in his face wasn’t quite as evident in the bar’s dim lighting. He took the chalk and rubbed it a little more vigorously than needed on the tip of the stick before lining up his shot. The cue ball narrowly missed the pocket.

“Dammit.” He breathed and lined up his next shot. He was interrupted as the table groaned under new and unexpected weight.

“So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

Len stilled. “Low wages and boredom.” He drawled, taking his shot and sinking three at once. He finally glanced up to see the assassin holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand while the other gripped the table railing. His legs were crossed seductively and the man was leaning in towards Len.

Quick Draw stopped a hairsbreadth from Len’s nose. “I could help with that... _ boredom. _ ” He purred, his eyes flicking down to Len’s lips on the last word.

Len sucked in a breath but didn’t move away. Quick Draw tilted his head and smiled.

“Wanna get out of here? I’ve got this flat with a killer view.” 

“Lead the way.” Len murmured, he put the cue stick back and held out a hand to help Quick Draw off the table. The man took it and hopped down before heading to the bar to pay.

The two of them walked out of the bar and down the street until they reached an alley. Quick Draw giggled and stumbled into Len, pushing into the alley. The second they were out of sight of the street Len pulled his gun and aimed it at Quick Draw.

“You are under arrest for fifteen charges of murder,” He hissed, “Put your hands on your head.”

The assassin raised his eyebrows and simply took his arm and twisted it behind Len’s back before shoving him face first into the brick wall. Len’s fingers automatically released the gun but strangely enough he didn’t hear it clatter to the ground.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this, darling.” Quick Draw purred in his ear. 

Len snarled and struggled against the man’s iron grip. “Let me go!”

Quick Draw made a small mew of protest. “I’m hurt, darling. And here I thought you enjoyed my sparkling personality.”

Len bucked in Quick Draw’s grip again and the man sighed. “George Mallozzi, Leslie Vasquez, Tariq Robinson, Jessica Talbot.”

Len frowned and turned his head as much as possible to stare at the hitman. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Quick Draw only grinned. Len felt the man shift slightly before something hard crashed into his temple.

***

Len woke up a few hours later and found himself back in his own bed. His head felt awful and it only worsened as he sat up. He stared dully at his surroundings trying to remember how he had gotten home from the dingy alley outside the bar. His head seemed to pound the more he tried to remember what had happened.

He’d been at a bar, he was sure of that, and he had to get up to do...something when he saw that man. Len ground his palms into his eyes and moaned softly. His head hurt  _ a lot. _

Which man was it? Why was this man so important? Len felt like he was drifting in a haze, just on the edge of clarity if not for the pulsing pain above his eyes. 

Len moved his fingers to caress his temples as he thought and barely bit back a yelp as his fingers crossed tender skin. He gently prodded the area and hissed as he hit what seemed to be the center of a bruise.

He’d been hit with something. A hard something.

Len’s eyes widened a fraction and the last puzzle piece clicked into place. He had seen Quick Draw at that bar and confronted him in the alley. He glanced around quickly just to make sure the hitman hadn’t stuck around.

His gaze landed on the oblong object sticking out of his bedside table. It glinted in the dim light of the room. It was a knife.

Len reached over to pull it free from his table and took a few minutes of wiggling and tugging before it finally came out, a folded piece of paper stuck to the blade of the knife. Len plucked the paper off the shaft and unfolded it.

_ George Mallozzi, Leslie Vasquez, Tariq Robinson, Jessica Talbot. _

_ In case you forgot. _

__ _ Quick Draw _

Len crumpled the piece of paper and threw it away. Hell would freeze over before he listened to a criminal. In the meantime he had a killer headache that hopefully an extra hour or so of sleep could cure.

***

In the following week Len most certainly did not pull the piece of paper out of the trash multiple times. He also did not run the names through the CCPD’s various databases nor did he check out the rap sheets each name carried. 

Each was rather lengthy but none of them had more than petty theft in common. None of them had current warrants for arrest and Len was beginning to wonder what Quick Draw had wanted when he gave him those four names.

A pen whacked Len in the face. Len blinked as the offending implement rolled down his leg and dropped onto the soft mesh of his seat. The pen was a bright orange.

Len turned and scowled at his partner. Mick just grinned.

“Need something, Mick?” He asked, voice icy.

“You’ve been hiding in your head for the last few days, spill.”

Len scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t, Snart.” Mick leaned back in his chair and gave Len his patented smug grin. Len briefly contemplated punching it.

“Something you’d like to say, Mick?”

“You’ve got something that’s bothering you, I only ever see you like this when a case doesn’t close the way you want it to.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Len sighed. He got up and beckoned for Mick to do the same. He and Mick went to the secluded break room that was so far from everything that rarely anyone ever went in there. 

True to form, there was no one there. Mick pulled a chair out and sat in it backwards as Len made to lean on the coffee counter.

“Alright, you gonna tell me now what this is all about?” Mick rumbled.

Len took a moment before replying, “I saw Quick Draw again on Friday.”

Len saw the slight tense in Mick’s shoulders at the name. “And you didn’t tell me? Hell, Snart, is that why you were sporting such a lovely bruise on Monday? Did he hurt you anywhere else?” Mick had risen from his chair and Len held his hands out to stop him. Mick pushed past the hands and began to feel him for potential injuries.

“I’m fine! All he did was pistol whip me with my own gun.” Len grumbled swatting at Mick’s concerned, probing hands. Mick abated with a scowl and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Still, why didn’t you tell anyone? That was four days ago, we could’ve used it as a lead, Len.” Mick was pissed. He hardly ever used Len’s first name. “Not to mention, you got hurt again. Last time it was an upside down hanging this time it was a pistol whip, what’ll next time be? Asphyxiation?”

Len shifted and Mick groaned.

“Fuck, Len you’re my partner, you’re supposed to tell me these things!”

“It was before I got hung from the fire escape! I was more worried about potential death than the fact that he kissed me into unconsciousness!” Len defended.

Mick went dead silent. There was a beat, then another before he finally responded.

“Please tell me this isn’t some sort of fucked up crush that a murderer has on you.” He sounded torn between laughing and crying.

“It isn’t,” Len was quick to assure, “He gave me a list of names he wanted me to look into but I haven’t found anything that explains why he gave them to me.”

Mick frowned. “Mind if I take a look? I might be able to find something even your anal ways couldn’t.” He grinned impishly and Len hummed sarcastically.

“We should get back.” Len commented, looking at the door.

“Yeah.” Mick agreed. After another moment of companionable silence, the two headed back into the hustle and bustle of the precinct.

***

The park was gorgeous this time of year. Late September meant that it was still warm enough to forgo a jacket but the leaves had just started to tinge the lovely colors of autumn. They looked extraordinary as the sun filtered through the branches and poured a dappled pattern over the sidewalk in front of the bench Barry was sitting at.

He’d been here twenty minutes and he knew for a fact that the jogger stretching for her run was never actually going to run and that the man supposedly birdwatching had taken a vested interest in him while he sat there.

He knew it was standard procedure for the Santinis, they liked large, open spaces to meet where they could station as many people as possible to tip the balance in their favor. It just got annoying after a while.

“Quick Draw.” A body plunked down next to him. “Where’s your boss?”

Barry turned to face Frank Santini.

“He sends his regards, as I’m sure your father does.”

If Frank noticed the slight, he’d gotten much better at controlling himself.

“Look, Frank, we both know why we’re here. Your father sent the Mallozzis to torch my employer’s newest dock acquisition because it was technically on Santini territory. Granted, territory that’s never been used.” Barry leaned back and put his elbows up on the top of the bench. “I’m afraid that my employer isn’t very happy.”

Frank shifted on the bench. “Is your employer looking to start something?”

Barry tilted his head and watched a woodpecker peck at a trunk. “No,” Barry told the park at large, “He is displeased though. He’s willing to let it slide if he has confirmation that he’ll have the freedom to pursue a dock warehouse.”

Frank sighed and Barry turned to face him head on.

“I don’t know if he’ll agree to that. He did torch the place because you were intruding, he might not be willing to let you do the exact same thing even if it means he’ll risk a war.” 

“Then I suppose you’ll have to convince him.” Barry stood up and put out a hand to shake. “Do inform my employer of your decision, he’s very eager to have a port warehouse, something about the smell of the sea.”

Frank didn’t smile at his flippancy and the handshake was hard enough that Barry wanted to wince. 

Barry headed off to where his driver had parked, his thoughts whirling around. He could only hope Vincent Santini would take the olive branch, there was absolutely no way he could even dream to carry through on a fraction of his threat if Vincent said no.

***

Frank Santini was jittery. His leg was bouncing and his fingers were tapping but his mind was still racing quicker than a thoroughbred.

He hadn’t known why Allen had called the meeting. All the negotiations had happened months ago when the Allen family rose up from the brink of collapse. There was no reason Allen would’ve needed to talk about anything.

Except, there was. Allen’s pet killer had said that the Mallozzis had torched his warehouse. Frank had known about the fire at the docks that had happened on their territory but he hadn’t cared too much because the port was rarely used. As the overseer of all the sub families, Frank could guarantee that the Mallozzis had done no such thing. At least, not under Santini orders.

Which then begged the question, whose orders were they acting under? And more specifically, why? What could this third party hope to gain? Did they want an all out gang war?

Frank curled his fingers into a fist. The Santinis were still the most powerful crime family in Central City but the past few years their influence had declined. Frank knew that if an all out war were to happen the Santinis would win but it would be a devastating blow.

He needed to get to the bottom of this. Whoever was pulling the strings needed to be put down and soon. He’d talk to his spies tonight, the faster this was over the less his father had to worry.

***

It had been a week since Barry had met Detective Snart at the bar. He was starting to get impatient. His opportunity to deal with the dock fire without causing a war was slowly slipping away. As far as he could tell, Detective Snart had made barely any progress.

Barry checked the feed from the tail he’d set on the detective for perhaps the third time in a minute. The man was still walking down the street. Barry sighed and closed his eyes. He had other things he needed to be dealing with. Like the potential supplies skimming that was showing up in some of the newer reports. Or the sex trafficking ring that he needed to disband, courtesy of the last small gang he broke up. Or the damaged relationship with the Irish mob from the canceled meeting.

Barry opened his eyes and they wandered slowly back to the grey hair and razor sharp blue eyes. Barry wondered if those steel blues ever softened. He caught himself staring again and forced himself to look away. Barry steepled his fingers along the edge of the desk and contemplated the phone sitting in front of him.

He snatched it up and stood.

“Hello, Ms. Delaney. I was wondering if you could tell me where you might be?” His other hand came up to tap the glass. “Really? How nice. Do you mind if I perhaps slip in and join you?”

The Irish could wait.

***

Len and Mick had just finished up their shift that night and decided to go out for a bite together. They walked in companionable silence to their favorite diner. 

Len smiled as he caught sight of the bright red and blue doors that announced the Sapphire Bear. Despite the name, the interior was neither sapphire nor full of bears but that made it all the more fun.

Mick and Len sat in their customary garish red and blue vinyl booth. They didn’t even open their menus before Will was skating over with an impish grin.

“Same as always, gents?” He asked, not bothering to pull out his pad. By now, Len was pretty sure the entire establishment knew their orders they came here so often.

The two of them nodded and Will skated away, his rollerblades making soft swishes along the checkered tile.

Mick turned back to Len. “So how long until Singh has you back out there with me?”

Len raised an eyebrow. “Miss me?”

Mick shrugged.

“Singh says he’s doing everything he can. He’s hoping to get me back into the field in a few more weeks but the commissioner is dragging his heels.” Len played with a sugar packet. “Have you found anything in the files I gave you?”

Mick leaned back before answering, “No. Nothing that’s helpful.”

Will skated back with a plate of food in each hand. He placed them on the table and smiled.

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a jiffy.” He told them.

A minute later he appeared again with two shakes and then skated away to serve another table.

Len and Mick ate and talked for a while. As time went on, Len found himself missing this more and more. They hadn’t gone out together to talk since before he was relegated to paperwork.

Eventually Will skated by one more time to give them their bill. Mick grabbed it instantly and only grinned when Len called him childish.

“You never let me pay, Snart. I always have to work fast if I want to.” 

“Like I said, childish!” Len replied as the man ambled over to the register.

***

Barry slid into the booth seconds after the other man Detective Snart had been sitting with left to pay.

“Fancy meeting you here, darling.” He purred. He watched in delight as the detective’s eyes widened comically before narrowing.

“Quick Draw.” The detective hissed. Barry winked.

“How’s the case going? I haven’t heard a peep from you.” He leaned in slightly, mock concern broken by the smirk.

“I don’t take orders from criminals.” The detective bit out. Barry tutted.

“Shame,” He reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a flash drive, “I was hoping to give you some evidence that I thought might help but if you don’t want it I guess I’ll just have to get rid of it.” He mimed tossing it and quirked his head sideways. A corner of his mouth pulled up.

Barry watched the indecision flit across the detective’s face. A muscle jumped in his jaw but he made no move to take it from Barry.

Barry placed the flash drive on the table and slid it closer to the other man.

“La curiosité est toujours punie.” With that, he stood and left.

***

Two days later Barry smiled as the news reported the arrest of the arsonists responsible for the fire at the dock. He’d have to thank the good detective for his service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase in french is purportedly the french version of curiosity killed the cat. I used the french google to find it so I'm gonna assume it's correct.   
> Also, I'm playing around with the idea of Barry as obsessed with Len later on but I'm also partial to a normal, healthy relationship where there is no unsafe possessiveness. Tell me what you guys think/want and I shall deliberate upon your arguments.


	3. Forget-Me-Nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mick, you shouldn’t have,” Len said as he drew closer. He leaned in to examine the bouquet and spotted a small white card nestled innocuously between two of the flower heads. He plucked it out.
> 
> “Please,” Mick snorted, “As if I’d ever get you something that fancy.”
> 
> Len hummed noncommittally as he opened the card.
> 
> I never did thank you for two weeks ago. I’d love to do it again.
> 
> 231-583-0306
> 
> XOXO 
> 
> Queenie Dunham 
> 
> Len felt the slight hope that Quick Draw was finished with him shatter into pieces before being promptly stepped upon and crushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Scuffs toe in the dirt.* So it may be almost a year since I updated this...whoopsie. Hope you all can forgive me. I'm going to try to work on this more now that I have some more time available to me and hopefully we won't ever have another hiatus quite this long. At least I have a basic idea of where I'm going now though, so things might go a little faster without the writer's block. Also, I'm thinking of rewriting the first chapter because it kind of conflicts with the new tone I've taken with this story.

_Eight months prior_

Eobard dropped his bag onto the chair just next to his door. It made a dull clank as all the contents were forcibly rearranged.

He adjusted his glasses, they were slightly crooked with one side of the frame bent at an irritating angle-a souvenir from his last job. He rested his other hand on the doorframe, taking in his safehouse.

Three years since he’d last been here. Been in Central, really. His talents had taken him far and wide but had never brought him back here. Dust at least an inch thick had collected on every surface, the bed looked musty and faded from the sunlight that had shone unimpeded by the partially drawn blinds. Small dust bunnies were scattered about the hardwood and they tittered in anxiety as the draft from the door rocked them backwards. There was large cobweb that extended for a good foot over the top corner of one of his walls.

Eobard slipped inside and shut the door with a soft click. Sliding his hand down the paneled wood, he yawned. He stood for another moment as the wave of exhaustion washed over him before he stepped further into the small apartment. Eobard only just managed to reach the armchair before falling into a heap.

This last job had really been something. Eobard had always loved a challenge, that’s why he hated when he was approached with mundane cases, or in the latest manner, _seemingly_ mundane cases.

Of course, he was willing to concede that the case had been easy at first but it soon became clear that the client who had contracted him clearly didn’t have all the pieces in the puzzle.

The case spiraled from there on out, nothing went right and if he wasn’t so damn prideful, Eobard would admit that luck had probably helped him kill the target more than his skills.

But at least it was done. No loose ends, no complications, nothing distasteful. Eobard hated it when a job couldn’t be carried to the full measure of completion. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been unable to fully finish a case the way he wanted to.

Eobard pulled his phone out and opened up the notes app to gaze yet again at his greatest failure. The one case that didn’t have one little loose end, but an entire boy gone missing. The Allen case.

Fourteen years ago and he was still haunted by the one that got away.

He had everything about it memorized at this point. September, 2000. Nora and Henry Allen of 168 Pembrooke Avenue. Mother and father of Bartholomew Allen and leading couple in organized crime. Contracted for 15 million to dispose of all three and destroy the Allen crime family. Nora and Henry Allen found dead in their home, child gone and never to return.

“Wherever did you go, young Mr. Allen?” Eobard mused. Fourteen years and not a single sign. He’d know, Eobard had watched the city at large for months after he murdered the boy’s parents, partially to watch the empire crumble and partially to ensnare the last Allen and end the job for good. Nearly a year after and the boy never so much as toed the city line. It was only after that that Eobard began to set up a larger intelligence network. He refused to let this boy slip through his grasp.

And yet he did. The case had gone cold after the night he murdered the Allens, nothing was ever added to the file. He only opened it obsessively every night in the hope that the scant information would suddenly click into a picture that would lead him to the missing child.

Which was why Eobard frowned when he saw the new document sitting in the folder. Only one other person had access to this folder. Gideon must’ve put it in there, but why? She rarely ever contributed to his case files, not unless she’d found something he’d missed. Never once had she added to this particular folder until now.

Eobard felt chills tingle down his spine as he reached out to tap the document. He could barely breathe as he watched the pages load agonizingly slow.

The first few were vague reports of a man fitting the description of what the Allen child would look like today, all were crimes. Eobard just scrolled past. Reports meant nothing if not corroborated with-

Eobard drew in a sharp breath as he stared at the missing boy.

He was walking down a street, deep in conversation with another man. His brow was furrowed as he clearly listened to some troubling news. His red shirt seemed to stand out brighter than all the other colours in the picture. A beacon to Eobard, calling him and mocking him all at once.

He scrolled quickly down to the caption and noticed there was another picture underneath.

This time the boy was in a park, sitting on a bench next to another man who was wearing a crisp suit. They both sat facing the park but Eobard could tell from the slight angling of the other man’s head that they were talking.

So, the young Allen was networking, Eobard thought, as he scanned over the rest of the photo and noticed several Santini gunmen in the background. He was planning to take over the old family business that had nearly died out and he was hoping the Santinis could help him.

He checked each of the captions, both were timestamped within the past four months.

So Barry Allen had returned to Central City, how delightful. Especially so close to Eobard’s own return. How very, very fortuitous. Eobard could finally clean up that loose end from fourteen years ago.

Eobard chuckled to himself and traced a finger along the side of Allen’s face in the picture.

“Welcome back, Barry Allen. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

***

Patrick O’Brien was about as stereotypically Irish as was possible. He was long and lean with a sharp nose. His bright red hair was parted on one side which only brought out his pale, freckle dotted complexion. His eyes glittered hazel in the sharp planes of his face and were only emphasized more by the man’s ridiculous bright green tie. With the ridiculously bright hair and tie, Barry almost wanted to call him an elf just to see what he would do.

His personality also left much to be desired. He was an oily man who seemed to think the world owed him thrice over. He constantly looked down his nose -not that it was hard, mind you- and spoke only in what could be construed as a patronizing tone.

Barry hated him.

If O’Brien interrupted him one more time, Barry decided he really wasn’t liable for what would happen. If only he didn’t need the partnership with the Irish so bad then he wouldn’t have to deal with this sniveling cretin who sat in his chair opposite Barry as if it were his throne.

He was still trying to rebuild his empire and he needed the resources the Irish provided. This alliance was his first major one that could prove more beneficial than just delineating territory and granting uneasy toleration. His first cancellation had already jeopardized his chances enough, throttling the olive branch wasn’t going to help him in the slightest.

“I’m only asking for a sixth of your imports in exchange for a fourth of my drugs. As a crime syndicate, you’re particularly well rounded but the one thing the Irish mob truly lacks is a strong drug running system. I’m willing to supply you with that system if you’ll supply me with your imports.” Barry stated, looking directly at O’Brien. Already he could see the man vacillating between accepting or pretending to need to confer with his boss over Barry’s offer.

They’d been dancing around the real subject for nearly twenty minutes now. The pompous Irishman seemed to be able to talk about anything but what he was there for.

After a few agonizing moments in which Barry tried now to yawm pointedly, O’Brien finally opened his mouth in reply.

“The Irish mob accepts your proposal. Miss Siobhan will be in contact with Allen soon to confirm a schedule.” He pontificated.

Barry refrained from any sort of comments along the lines of _fucking finally_ as he rose to shake Patrick’s hand.

“I’ll pass along the message. Pleasure doing business with you.” Barry withdrew his hand and gestured to one of the bodyguards to show O’Brien out.

The man swept out and Barry sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He hoped to hell that Siobhan Murphy was a more reasonable and frank sort than her slimy second in command. At least he had gotten what he wanted out of that ridiculous and trying meeting.

Barry’s cell phone chimed. It was a text from Ivan.

_Unidentified body on Wabash and Culotte. Multiple gunshots. Dispose?_

Barry sucked in a breath. Damn. He knew this would happen eventually but he was hoping it would happen well after his syndicate was established. Foolishly hopeful, but a man could dream.

 _No. Wait for me. I need to check the body over._ He replied.

***

It had been a week since the arson case had been closed and Len wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or worried that Quick Draw hadn’t contacted him again.

It was nice, he supposed, not being contacted by a known assassin who had a blood list the length of the fucking Amazon river. But at the same time Len couldn’t help but feel jittery for the lack of contact.

It was possible that Quick Draw was simply done with Len and what he could provide him as far as department resources but Len couldn’t imagine that was the case. Quick Draw was dramatic, bold, and quite frankly, a little shit. It just didn’t make sense that he’d simply let something like this lie when he could literally have the department running in frantic circles.

And so Len tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that Quick Draw was in some sort of trouble.

***

The bell rustled as Frank stepped into the restaurant, a soft tinkling that reminded him of windchimes. He heard a rustle from the back room as he took in the new renovations. The old oak wall panels had been replaced with newer spruce panels and complimented the dim “mood lighting” well. Large sepia pictures of Italian architecture and fields were hung up around the room- most were old but a few were newer, like the map of Rome done in brown ink.

A small woman stepped out from the back room with a small tea towel clasped in her hands. She began to wipe down the counter with her back to him. Frank gently cleared his throat. She paused for a moment before continuing.

“We’re closed! We’ll be open tomorrow morning at 11 o’clock if you’d like to swing by then,” She drawled. A small cinnamon curl slipped free from her messy bun and came to rest by her ear.

“And here I thought I was always welcome, no matter the time of day,” Frank called back.

She stilled again then wiped at the counter once more and put down the cloth. She turned to face him.

“I suppose I could make an exception.” The woman studied his face as if to find something. Whether she found it or not, Frank was unsure as she turned to face the register. “Do you mind if I…?” She trailed off and motioned to the register. Frank merely smiled and took a seat at a nearby table.

He watched her deftly sort the coins and bills into neat little piles before finally wrapping each pile up and setting it in the lockbox. She pocketed the small key and made her way over to the table. She settled herself, hands placed atop the table, and then stared at him expectantly.

“Chiara,” He murmured, “I need a favor.” He stretched his own hands over the table to claps overtop hers.

She rose her eyebrows and quirked a corner of her mouth. It was about the greatest show of curiosity he’d get out of her.

“I think someone is trying to stop me from inheriting the business. There’s been an issue and I didn’t hear about it until I was confronted by Allen’s pet dog. I think there’s a hole in my network.” He watched her as his words sunk in.

“And you need me to find out who exactly is trying to undermine you and who they’ve got under their control,” She finished for him. Her dark eyes bored into him.

Frank nodded before continuing. “You’re a neutral party in this, I can interrogate my underlings all I want but I don’t have the ability to have my ear to the ground like you do. People stop talking when I enter a room, nobody even notices when you enter a conversation.”

Chiara tilted her head and bit her lip, staring at the lacquered tabletop. Slowly, she nodded.

“I’ll do it. I’ve already heard some rumors that I can track down for you.”

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. He squeezed her hands. “Thank you,” He said, “I’ll really owe you for this.”

Chiara just shook her head wryly. “You know me, a trip to the homeland after and we’ll consider it even.”

Frank smiled and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Take care,” He whispered and brushed his lips over the back of one of her hands before he slipped away and out the door.

***

Barry stepped out of the car to find a grim looking Ivan. The sun peeked out at him between the glass and steel trees of the urban jungle. It was just about to set, its colors vivid and bloody.

“What have you found?” He asked as the two of them made their way to the body.

“The body has three shots to the chest, looks to be a .45 caliber to me, all three in extremely painful places but not immediately fatal.”

Barry knelt down next to the body and studied it. Ivan was correct, the three shots were in rather painful places, but all of them would’ve caused the victim to slowly bleed to death over several hours. There was barely any blood soaking into the asphalt of the alley.

“There’s more,” Ivan pressed on, “His fingers are all broken and half his toes are missing.”

Some were shattered actually, almost as if someone had alternated between taking a hammer to a digit and simply snapping another. Even some of the nails were missing, looking as if they had been pulled off.

“They were looking for something,” Barry grimaced, “The question is, did whoever did this get what they wanted?”

Ivan pressed his lips together at Barry’s musing. Barry stood back up but didn’t take his eyes off the body.

“Were you able to identify if he was one of ours?” He asked.

Ivan shifted to pull a bloodied wallet out of his jacket. He handed it to Barry. “He was. He ran drugs for us to help pay for his daughter’s college. I personally approved his recruitment.”

Barry closed his eyes and let out a breath.

“Sir?” Ivan prompted him back into reality. Barry stood up.

“Set up a monthly payment of whatever he was making to send to his daughter. Take it from my personal account if you must. In the meantime, we need to figure out just who the hell this person is and what they’re after,” Barry replied, face stony as he surveyed the scene one more time. A brightly painted store caught his vision as he looked past the body.

“Leave that body!” He barked at the two lackeys that lurked nearby.

Barry had a better idea in mind as he walked towards the shop.

***

Len had nearly gotten over his irrational sense that Quick Draw was in trouble by the end of the second week. Of course, he still had that niggling thought that perhaps something truly was wrong but each time it surfaced, Len shoved it back down. There was no point on dwelling on that killer when he had no solid leads that could possibly alleviate such a ridiculous notion.

Besides, Singh had pulled him aside yesterday and told him that in two weeks time he would be back to field work. There was some last minute paperwork to clear up but it would all be over in fourteen days.

Which was why Len wasn’t expecting any sort of surprises for the next few days. Certainly not the two dozen forget-me-nots sitting in a silver vase on the edge of his desk. Len stared at it in utter confusion. Who on Earth could have sent him flowers? Had someone also heard that Len was going to be returning to active duty soon and had sent him a bouquet to congratulate him?

Mick sat at his own desk and fiddled with a pen, clearly trying to appear uninterested by the flowers, but if Len knew anything, his partner had already searched for and read the any card hidden within.

“Mick, you shouldn’t have,” Len said as he drew closer. He leaned in to examine the bouquet and spotted a small white card nestled innocuously between two of the flower heads. He plucked it out.

“Please,” Mick snorted, “As if I’d ever get you something that fancy.”

Len hummed noncommittally as he opened the card.

_I never did thank you for two weeks ago. I’d love to do it again._

_231-583-0306_

_XOXO_

_Queenie Dunham_

Len frowned at the card. He had never met a Queenie Dunham in his life, certainly not two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he’d been mulling over the strange clue Quick Draw had given him, he’d not had any time to go out and do _anything_ let alone apparently meet with this Queenie Dunham.

Then the penny finally dropped.

Len felt the slight hope that Quick Draw was finished with him shatter into pieces before being promptly stepped upon and crushed.

“Seems like an awful nice chick to be sending you flowers two weeks after the fact.” Mick commented.

Len whipped around to glance at his partner. “You read the card?” It suddenly seemed ten times worse that Mick had looked at this card now that he knew who had sent it.

“You say that as if you didn’t expect me to do so. You should call her. I happen to know Singh is currently talking to the mayor.” Mick replied easily.

“Right,” Len muttered. He shoved the card back into the bouquet and dropped the vase on the floor next to his desk. He didn’t need this in his life right now, dammit, he was within arms reach of being back on active duty and he didn’t need Quick Draw fucking him over again.

Mick snorted again at his antics and muttered something that sounded like _typical_ under his breath, but Len ignored it.

He didn’t spare the bouquet even a glance throughout the entire day, ignoring the snide little voice that told him he’d just broken about twenty laws, first and foremost relating to obstruction of justice.

***

Barry stared down at the calendar laid out by Siobhan, his fingers tapping incessantly against the side of his thigh.

The schedule they had worked out thus far appeared very profitable and manageable. And as the dates actually appeared to coincide with what Ivan’s research about the Irish shipping lines, he was fairly sure Siobhan wasn’t trying to shortchange him.

“I believe we are in agreement.” Siobhan commented as she also stared down at the calendar.

“Indeed,” Barry replied, “Send my boss a copy.”

“Of course,” Siobhan answered, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with the Allen family.”

They both stood up.

“I’m glad we could come to an accord.” Barry agreed.

“Perhaps you’d like to stay a moment longer and sample some of our wares?” Siobhan’s eyes flashed with mirth and she took a step towards the bar stacked with an unbelievable amount of alcohol.

Barry smiled in return and opened his mouth to reply when his phone rang.

“My apologies,” He said and pulled it out just as the call went to voicemail. He glanced at the caller ID and started. _The detective._ He tucked his phone away and faced Siobhan again.

“You’ll have to forgive me, it appears I have business to attend to. Perhaps another time.” Barry said smoothly. He shook the Irishwoman’s hand and made his exit.

As soon as he reached his car he dialed the detective’s number. Ivan glanced at him through the rearview mirror as he put the divider up.

The soft ringing of the line finally ended with the click of the receiver and Barry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Detective,” Barry greeted, “How lovely to hear from you.”

There was a pregnant pause and Barry swore he could hear a muffled growl.

“What do you want?”

Barry tutted. “Now, now, detective, that’s not very nice.”

“I don’t play nice with murdering criminals who have the blood of dozens on their hands.” Len hissed across the line.

“I suppose in your adorable world of ethics and laws that counts for something,” Barry commented, “There was a body. Three gunshot wounds to the chest, male, late forties, he was found near Wabash and Culotte-”

“I’m not tampering with evidence,” Len snarled.

“And yet you did not turn the bouquet into the Captain,” Barry mused.

“That was different.”

“Was it?” Barry hummed for a moment before resuming. “I would love for you to examine the reports surrounding that body. It would mean ever so much to me.”

There was another pause on the line.

“Why do you care about this?” Len asked, suspicions raised.

“I don’t like seeing my people hurt.” Barry replied and closed the call.

***

The man Eobard had tortured had indeed been useful. Not terribly, but then again, he was newer and at the bottom of the chain. Much like with the burnt warehouse, Eobard was frustrated with the lack of information. It was almost as if both had purposely been left with minimal amounts of useful knowledge purely to taunt him.

Certainly, the outlines of Allen’s territory and how his drug operations worked was useful, but it wasn’t what Eobard wanted, what he _needed._

Quick Draw. Allen’s pet murderer.

He’d heard the name and a few grizzly stories but no one had been able to give him anything more than that. He’d had to dig for himself and even then the information minimal.

Eobard shifted his gaze over the various pieces of information he had gathered. According to his research, Quick Draw was in actuality a man and ruthless with bloodlust, a maniacal killer on a long leash. He did Allen’s dirty laundry but also rubbed elbows with the other bosses and personally inspected all the branches of operation randomly. He was also the only link to the elusive Allen head.

Eobard hummed contemplatively.

He needed to meet this Quick Draw and for that he needed more information. The first lackey was too low down, he’d never even met Quick Draw.

Eobard smiled at the thought as he picked out his mark. Higher up, more important, and closer to the man he wanted.

“Watch out, Allen,” Eobard murmured, “Fate is finally catching up to you.”


End file.
